


Argue

by Readerstories



Series: Sherlock Holmes x reader [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gen, M/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readerstories/pseuds/Readerstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you do a Sherlock x reader where they get into an argument about his drug use (as he's high) but he stops for her in the end? C: the thirst in me is strong lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	Argue

You can hear Sherlock stomping up the steps, alerting you that he is indeed high as you feared. His drug use had been the topic of many fights, and he had told you many times that he had control. This, if the state he was in right now had anything to say about it, was untrue. The door swings open and Sherlock comes in.

He walks right over to his chair, flops down and stares at the ceiling. It seems like he has decided to ignore you, you know he is fully aware that you are there. The drugs makes his world duller, it doesn’t make him dumb. You are having none of it. You put your phone down on the table, get up from the couch, and walk over to him. You stand in front of his chair. When he keeps ignoring you, you poke him in the thigh with your foot.

He doesn’t give any indicators on planning to pay any annotation to you. You poke him again in the thigh with your foot, apparently a little too close to comfort, since he gives you a glare before resuming to the ceiling staring. You’ve had enough. You place your hands on each side of him and lean forward. Sherlock still pretends you aren’t there; you’re starting to become more and more tempted to slap him.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, look at me right now.” Sherlock, obviously not liking you using his full name finally looks at you.

“There you go. Now, was that so hard?” Sherlock grits his teeth, refusing to take the bait.

“I regret telling you my full name”, he states, more to himself than you.

“You are going to regret a lot of things involving me pretty soon. Like coming home when you are _high._ ” The last word is more spitted out than spoken. Sherlock snorts and this fires you up even more.

 _"Oh,_ you think this is **_funny,_** don’t you. Me, worrying about you wasting your life away with useless drugs.” This time it’s you that snort. You pull away and cross your arms over your chest.

“If you think it’s so damn funny, I’m ready to walk right out the door and leave you in the _lovely_ and _caring_ hands of the drugs.” This actually lights something in Sherlock, because he practically explodes out of the chair.

“Don’t talk about it like it affects you. Because it doesn’t!  I’m the one that takes in information in an endless stream every second I am awake. And I can’t stop it with anything else than the drugs, or the crime solving. And sometimes I only have the drugs, since the crime world are to slow in making new, interesting crimes for me to solve.” Sherlock have been coming gradually and gradually closer to you while shouting. Now you are just inches apart and not in a good way. You know you shouldn’t continue; there is the danger of Sherlock snapping and things spinning out of control. But you can’t. So you jab your finger into his chest several times and start speaking.

“If it.” Jab.

“Affects you.” Jab.

“Then it.” Jab.

“Affects me.” Jab.

You stop with your finger still connected to his chest. “You might be one of the smartest men in the world, but all the things you don’t see make you stupid sometimes.” You leave him, and grab your jacket where it was resting over one of the chairs. You almost run out of the flat, and slam the downstairs door with as much power as you can. You visibly deflate before pulling on your jacket, stuffing your hands in the pockets and walking away. You can feel Sherlock’s eyes on you. You are almost tempted to turn around and flip him of, but you don’t. You just walk away in long paces. Up in 221B Sherlock lets the curtain fall back down.

 

It’s weird coming back to the flat the next morning, you can hear people talking upstairs. You can’t hear what they are saying, but it sounds like there are at least four people there. You are curious on why they are there, but you take the stairs slowly nonetheless. When you enter the living room, you see Sherlock standing with his back to you, talking to Lestrade. Lestrade spots you first and instantly shut ups and give you a nod, turning away. Sherlock turns to you. He looks like shit, obviously coming down from whatever he was on last night.

“What are they doing here?” you ask him.

“Drug bust.” When you raise an eyebrow, he sighs.

“I called them here. Last night, I decided to do something. I know you want me to quit, and wouldn’t trust only my word if I said the flat was clean. So I got them to come and check everything and everywhere so you could be sure.” You can feel the first spires of hope grow in your chest, but you quickly hush it. You take a step towards Sherlock.

“So you’re serious about this?” Sherlock nods.

“And if you fall back I’m allowed to punch you? Really hard?” Sherlock nods again, this time with the ghost of a smile on his lips. He takes out his arms from where they were hidden behind his back the whole time, and stretches them towards you, inviting to and asking for a hug. You smile and rush into his arms. His arms go around your shoulders, and your own goes around his waist. Sherlock buries his nose in your neck and inhales deeply. You start to gently sway him back and forth, trying to calm him down. Although he doesn’t say a thing, you know he was afraid he had lost you. He had thought that maybe, just maybe this was the time you really let and didn’t come back. You stand intertwined like this for several long moments, until someone clears their throat. You let Sherlock go a little and look up to see Lestrade standing there.

“The flat is clean, we’ll leave now.” You nod and say a quiet “Thanks.”  Lestrade smiles sadly, and leaves, Anderson and another girl that helped following him. You hear her mumbling something.

“I thought he was taller.” The door shuts behind them. You pull Sherlock up from where he was pressing into your neck, and kiss him. The kiss is desperate and long, and so is the next. And they don’t stop coming.  Sherlock keeps kissing you through the day like he wants to say sorry for everything. And for now, life is good.

**Author's Note:**

> Putting all my work from my tumblr on here as well.


End file.
